Betrayed
by Sylphion
Summary: Fulgore has won Ultratech's tournament. Mass production of the Fulgore Cybernetic Soldier is under way. Fulgore is now cast to the side. As you might guess, he's not taking it very well.


Chapter 1: Traitor

Fulgore should have seen this coming. He had seen similar things many times before, happen to other creatures. However, he had thought himself more powerful then those other creatures, those humans. How short-sighted he was. After winning Ultratech's tournament, they had rallied behind him, stepping up production of the Fulgore-class cyborg warriors. Fulgore had immediately requested massive upgrades, to keep him ahead of the mass-produced versions. Ultratech, already very pleased with him, complied and made him into an even deadlier creation. For a while, Fulgore remained as he was; the pinnacle of modern technology, and the deadliest creation ever to walk the Earth.

It didn't last.

The first batch of mass-produced copies of him began to show Fulgore up in his areas of his expertise. Ultratech marveled at their newest creations, while Fulgore was getting less and less attention in the form of resources and upgrades. It seemed he was destined to fade off into the shadows until he was a rusted-out shell of his former self.

Fulgore secretly sabotaged the main facility were the units were being produced.

At first his actions were overlooked, due to human error. Then, one of the few units already produced figured it out, and notified Ultratech. Fulgore was instantly labeled 'defective', and scheduled to be scrapped.

Now, he sat in a steel closet, for lack of a better term, quietly waiting to be sent to a de-construction lab. A while ago, he had heard some of the scientists talking about him outside the metal door.

"It is amazing, that it has become self-aware." One was saying

"Indeed. Though, you should remember; it does have some organic components. That is probably the cause of it."

"We'll find out soon enough, eh?" the first said, and both laughed.

Inside his metal coffin, Fulgore schemed. He _would_ be free of this, and he would make both those weakling copies of him _and_ the humans suffer for this. Had he not been and done everything Ultratech had wanted? And yet they replace him so easily, after he had done so much for them? Yes, this called for revenge.

_First things first; I must escape this place._ He thought, planning his steps with ruthless efficiency and purpose. To do that, he must be out of this box. The humans may have been stupid but they weren't complete idiots, and had disabled his energy wrist-blades. Then he would use brute force, and tear the door from the wall. The room was tiny, though, just large enough for him and that was it; no room to move his limbs. He was flat against the wall, too, which left him with few options.

However, he was resourceful. By straining his wrist gyros, he managed to place his hands flat against the door. He then pushed with all his strength. The door creaked horribly, and caved outward but did not open. Fulgore's optical receptors narrowed in annoyance.

He strained again, and the door caved more but still held.

Fulgore was not about to be discouraged.

With the extra room, he maneuvered into a slightly better position, and used his legs to help his push outward. That did it; the door tore apart, and Fulgore stumbled into the area beyond.

A few steps, and Fulgore crashed into a wall, leaving a crater in the cement. Fulgore was unfazed, and pushed himself off the wall. He was in a corridor, and red lights were flashing. However, no siren was to be heard. In fact it was eerily quiet. Fulgore looked around a bit, searching for what was going on. Nothing, it seemed. He surveyed either end of the hall. One direction simply ended in a solid wall. Fulgore turned the other way…

And was punched in the face so hard he flew a good 10 feet. He crashed into the floor, digging a gouge in the metal-clad concrete. Fulgore's cybernetic nervous system told him that the blow hurt. He turned off his pain-sensors, and looked to see what he would kill next. It was a copy. He scanned it and loads of extremely detailed information was displayed to him, appearing in his red-tinted sight. Fulgore, though focused on one specific part: The unit's number

FULGORE UNIT ALPHA-3

This was the second-made copy of him. It would do for him to destroy it. Fulgore picked himself up easily, and took a combat stance. The copy looked at him strangely.

"Obsolete unit; do not resist." It said in the same metallic voice.

Fulgore said nothing, only looked at it and gauged it. It had no combat stance, and was standing there, looking at him like it was confused. Fulgore wasted no time in rushing it. Even though his blades were not activated, he used his dash and went for its neck. It never stood a chance, really. Fulgore used his incredible brute strength to tear its head off and throw the component down the hall, embedding it into the wall… the wall that was about 100 feet away. The now-headless body sank to the floor, sparks and blue fluid spraying of its neck. Fulgore moved on without giving the metal body another glance. The opposite end of the hall contained a set of doors. Fulgore made that his objective. He strode down the hall, wary of anything that might pose a threat. He reached the doors, and realized it was an elevator. He punched the button, and his extremely sensitive audio receptors picked up the hum of the elevator's descent. Fulgore waited impatiently; he needed to hurry if he was to escape.

The elevator stopped. Fulgore faced the door in surprise; I had stopped two floors above him. Fulgore's cybernetic brain instantly listed the possibilities:

1: The humans had shut it down, or 2: someone, or something, was boarding it right now, and would end up right in his face if he stood there. Seconds later, all the lights went out. Pitch darkness and an oppressive silence filled the corridor.

Fulgore was now inclined to go with the first probability.

Author's notes:

A fanfiction of one of my favorite games of all time; I hope I've done it justice. More characters will appear later. Please; leave a thought.


End file.
